


more than paper cuts

by lovefueledinsomnia



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Ambiguous-Gender Reader, Blood Kink, Bottom Saihara Shuichi, Don't Try This At Home, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, Normie Saihara Shuichi, Phone Sex, Pre-Game Saihara Shuichi, Reader-Insert, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, attention whore e-boy pregame shuichi, come get y'all bottom shuichi guys, dark themes, messed up relationship, reader is domming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-08 23:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17990978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovefueledinsomnia/pseuds/lovefueledinsomnia
Summary: “See… ? I’ve done it again… Are you gonna punish me ?”His voice is light and his smile innocent, like he’s talking about the weather— like it’s all casual and normal and healthy. But you push all concerns and reason through the window, trying to convince yourself you don’t need them. No, you really don’t, because you’ve got that lovely, marked wrist; that lovely, marked boy all to yourself, and that mere thought makes your thighs tremble._____Shuichi, that boy you met online, turns out to be a handful and won't stop at anything to catch your attention. Despite knowing better, you always end up giving him exactly what he craves, no matter how messed up it may be...





	more than paper cuts

**Author's Note:**

> Please take note that this fic references self-harm and features blades and blood used in erotic play. No Shuichis have been harmed in the making of this.

Like every evening, the call comes. And like every evening, he hangs up just one second into it, leaving you alone with your screen throwing up bleak light at you. It’s set on night mode, like your own little corner of the world, but the letters you’re typing are bright enough to imprint themselves on your retina.

_hey... what’s up, smth wrong ? wanna talk_

He doesn’t answer immediately, but you can feel it— his teeth digging into his lower lip, biting it in the way that drives you crazy; his fake embarrassment, right before he rushes to type. You know his fingers are trembling against the screen; you just do. Really, you’d know everything about this boy if he didn’t keep surprising you every day.

_yeaah not rly….. im good lol dw about me_

“Fucking liar”, you think to yourself, inner voice biting and weary.

“Lying attention whore. Whiny bitch.” The words are cold enough to hurt even yourself, but you try to make them loud enough you can’t feel the small pang of affection in your heart at the mere thought of him.

You know he’s waiting, almost triumphantly, sitting on that undone bed of his like on a throne, maybe idly kicking at the balled up blankets. It’s like you’re in his messy room, that dark and shut-off tiny little room that smells of dust and of him, with paper-thin walls but sealed shut from the hustle and bustle of that city he hates so much. Yes, it’s almost like he’s sitting right next to you, cold, clammy fingers brushing against yours and begging you to _just do it, just call me, please, I need it, I really do…_

You give in and call him, and for one shaky second the ghostly Shuichi from your fatigue-induced vision grins at you; that small, satisfied grin he shows when you play straight into his plans. This time he picks up, although it’s only dark, heavy silence on his end.

“Hello ?” You get no response at first, until you hear it— a stifled little gasp. Then it’s noises you can’t discern exactly, until his hushed voice finally reaches you.

“Hi…” It never fails to amaze you how much quieter he is compared to the endless, pain-high conversations you two have every day on that app. He’s whispering today as well, his parents probably fast asleep. You can’t help turning the sound louder, finding yourself irritated at how small his voice is.

Before your tired brain can piece together comforting words for him, he turns on his camera, pale face barely visible in his darkened room. But you know him enough to make him out clear as day – his favorite oversized hoodie, naked thighs shuffling constantly to show off milky skin to you, dark hair a mess and eyes marked from lack of sleep. The sight never fails to make your blood rush, even more so as your irritation pumps through you with every purposefully shy little glance he gives you.

With a trembling finger, you turn your own camera on, feigning disinterest when his bitten-red lips stretch in a smile as he catches sight of your face. His lips are already parting in a compliment – you know from that look he’s giving you. So you speak first, voice firm enough he instantly shrinks back into his blankets.

“So, what’s up ?” You really tried – monologuing in your own bed when you read his string of worrying messages, the same ones you get almost every day. It’s always all sweet words and comfort, until he’s right in front of you, nervous form shuffling on your screen, teeth biting down on his nails in a staged show of weakness.

That’s when you lose it; when your blood starts boiling, when your eyes get colder, when the fatigued, cynical inner voice insulting him at every occasion takes over the sweet, comforting words you give him by text. And he’s pathetic enough to eat it all up, even today, making a show of biting those plump lips of his to attract your attention.

“I’ve just... been feeling real down, you know, the usual…” His voice sounds airy, but his eyes are heavy on you, and you could almost feel them scanning your every reaction. You try your best not to give him one, cold eyes still drilled on him through your screen, and you almost catch the way his skinny shoulders shake in delight.

“That’s fucking new. School stuff again ?” He nods in response, mouth now hidden behind his oversized sleeve.

“I didn’t wanna go today… but they forced me… It sucked. I hate it so much.” There he goes again. A spiel of hatred and bitterness, one you know and hate, and yet _love_ so much. Yes, you love it— you love him, that detached tone of his as he spouts venom on his every classmate, that angelic little smile as he wishes the worst deaths and fates upon them, and most of all, the way his grey eyes keep tracking your every move, desperate for your attention and your affection.

And it feels so, _so good_ to pretend denying him that. So good in fact you have increasing trouble hiding your trembling smile and your panting breath. He’s so _pathetic_. So _desperate_. So _pitiful_ you can’t focus on what he says, your hungry eyes roaming over every inch of deliberately exposed skin. But he notices, more clever than you give him credit for— he notices, and his dark monologue comes to an end, that lovely _(pitiful)_ smile of his stretching a hint wider as he extends an arm towards you.

“Hey… Wanna see my wrist… ? I did it again.” You hate how your breath hitches in your throat— and how Shuichi’s eyes get brighter when he catches you doing it, reading into your every movement and your every reaction perfectly well. You hate it, you really do, and yet your own voice betrays you.

“… Yes. Show me.” Your mouth feels parched, and Shuichi’s smile makes you shiver in excitement _(disgust)_. His teeth catch the hem of his sleeve, slowly pulling it back over that skinny, fragile arm of his you dream of hurting so much. His white skin is striped with lovely red marks, over and over again, the contrast so arousing you have to bite your lip to keep your voice to yourself.

“See… ? I’ve done it again… Are you gonna punish me ?” His voice is light and his smile innocent, like he’s talking about the weather— like it’s all casual and normal and _healthy_. But you push all concerns and reason through the window, trying to convince yourself you don’t need them. No, you really don’t, because you’ve got that lovely, marked wrist; that lovely, marked boy all to yourself, and that mere thought makes your thighs tremble.

“You bet I am. I’m gonna hurt you so much.” Your voice is hoarse and cutting; it’s the voice Shuichi loves most, and he even shakes delightfully when he notices the look you’re giving him. He loves it— he loves it all, how you order him around, how you destroy him, day after day… so it’s okay to keep going, right ?

It’s okay to keep loving _(hating)_ him, right ?

You don’t know— you don’t want to know, you don’t want to _think_ anymore, letting instinct pilot you as it does every evening. It’s so hard not to, especially when Shuichi spreads his legs for you, running fingers along those smooth thighs he knows you love so much.

“Please… Make it hurt… I need it so fucking much…” He really does— you know truth when you see it, especially when it’s hard and leaking, making a mess of his boxers. Your mind is hazy, foggy, cloudy— it’s all him, his wet underwear, shaky thighs, teeth biting down on those pink lips you’re dying to kiss _(bruise)_ already. You can barely hear yourself when you talk.

“Get your scissors now. I want your thighs aching and bleeding.” Shuichi actually moans at your sharp command, nails running along his sensitive skin one more time before he rolls on all fours, making a show of arching his spine as he digs into his nightstand’s drawer. You hear metal being dragged along wood; he picks your favorite pair, the blades clicking together slowly, ominously, so tantalizing and hypnotizing. You think you’re going to drool when he drags them along his skin, thighs spread wide so you can see his everything. He never once breaks eye contact, even as the blade pierces skin, little droplets appearing in its wake.

Vivid red against milky skin— rose petals on fresh, virgin snow. You can’t tear your eyes from that lovely painting, all red and white, dripping blood and sensitive skin, Shuichi’s toes curling as he cuts again and again, adding more colorful lines to his shaky canvas. He moans, or maybe you do— you don’t remember when your hand dived into your pants, but you couldn’t care less, because he switches to his other thigh. His untainted skin gets painted over with blood, and words spill past your lips uncontrolled.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. I wanna lick it all up so bad.” Shuichi giggles at your words, breath hitching when he angles the blade another way, and his dick twitches urgently in the corner of your eye.

“Please… I want you biting all over my thighs… Drink it all, please…” He’s smiling, even as tears reflexively pool to the corner of his eyes, even as you rapturously take in his everything, breath ragged.

“You’d be a mess if I do. A bloody, painful mess. But you’d love it, huh…” Shuichi nods wantonly, shaky fingers throwing the scissors away. He needs more— you just know from his arched back, from his whiny little pleas. So you let him rummage around the drawer again, and just from that manic little laugh you hear, you’re about to cum. You know that laugh. You know it so well.

You’re in no way surprised when Shuichi shows off his treasured utility knife to you. No, it’s all just blinding pleasure and that overwhelming urge to treasure _(destroy)_ him. It’s hard to even speak— you’re so, so close. But you hold on, fingers hovering so close to your favorite spots, trying to hold on just a bit longer, just enough to see the best part.

“You’re a fucking pain slut, Shuichi.” His throaty moan only serves as enthusiastic agreement, and you’re utterly fascinated when he hastily removes his hoodie and draws the blade out, still dirty from the other day.

“Just come over and do me already… I want you to drive that thing into me,” he whines, the blade lovingly tracing patterns against his throat. He’s barely pressing it against his skin, and yet red already pearls on those intricate curls he’s drawing on his own body. You love it— you’re so close, so so close, as he caresses his collarbones with the sharp blade, drawing a poor attempt at a heart just under the left one.

“You’d like that, huh, Shuichi ? Me fucking you, hurting you, cutting you—” You don't realize you're drooling a bit until it's too late, eyes so hazy it’s hard to even see him, but you don’t want to miss a single second of how the blade teasingly circles those pink nipples you love so much.

“Please…. Mmh, please hurt me… Bite me, punch me, I don’t— care— oh… !” His eyes cross in bliss for a second, and his thighs shake madly— he’s close too. He’s as close as you are, about to cum untouched from your cold gaze and that hard blade of his alone, and the thought spurs you on immensely.

“Shuichi, I’m—” You can’t finish, because Shuichi lets go of the utility knife, hands diving down his boxers, his ecstatic little cries drowning your own voice. You can’t see anything; it’s all just red on white, Shuichi’s skinny fingers pumping busily between his thighs until his back arches and his eyes close—he cums just as you do, shuddering, your mind utterly filled with him.

And then it’s all quiet again, Shuichi shaking weakly, hand covered in his own juices and blood; and you trying to catch your breath, taking in every inch of that lovely _(pathetic)_ , exhausted form of his.

“I love you.” You barely even hear yourself saying it, mind still hazy, but Shuichi does, laughing quietly as his thighs still spasm gently.

“I love you too… so so _so much_ …” You don’t answer, trying to ignore the pure love pouring out from his entire being, his eyes looking for tenderness deep into yours. But you can never ignore the furious drumming of your heart against your ribcage, despite your best attempts.

**Author's Note:**

> the pregame Shuichi/reader agenda physically prevents me from posting anything else, i need to fill this tag with my grossness ♥
> 
> please note that this was never meant to belittle or romanticize mental illness or self-harm ! i simply intended this one-shot to portray a fictional, messed-up, unhealthy relationship, with potential for mutual growth if you squint hard enough. and remember to give your pregame Shuichi lots of smooches once you're done with him !
> 
> as usual, i'd be delighted if you leave a comment if you liked it, or have another gross/depraved idea for me to write about ♥


End file.
